“Sure,” I said, out of habit more than anything else.
He went to the fridge and moved aside several jars to reach the water bottles.
“Are those your strawberry preserves?” I asked, accepting the bottle from him.
“They are,” he answered, sounding a little embarrassed. “I ran out of room in my fridge at home. You want one?” he asked, holding out a jar.
I took it, suddenly filled with nostalgia for Sunday morning toast. “Thank you. This was Robert’s favorite.”
He nodded shyly. “He did appreciate that the recipe was vegan.”
Gripping the jar against my chest, I let him lead me to the waiting area near the entrance, and I sank down into one of the soft, comfy couches there. He sat on the couch that touched corners with mine, our knees bumping. I wished he’d sat next to me so I could have a little of his warmth.
That thought was accompanied by a blade of guilt right through my belly. Asking for physical comfort from anyone other than Robert was wrong on so many levels.
“You can talk, if that would help,” Major said. “Or I can. Or we can sit here in the quiet.” He rested his forearm on the arm of the couch, extending his hand.
Because I ached so badly for touch, I shoved aside the guilt, set the unopened water and the jar of preserves on the side table,and put my hand in his, appreciating the gentle pressure of his grip. The warmth in his eyes told me he was listening.
“I just want to sit here,” I said.
He took a few slow, deep breaths, enticing me to follow suit. The way his powerful chest expanded on each inhale and fell on each exhale soothed my roughed-up nerves. He sat there like my very own mountain, grounding me with a simple breathing exercise, rounding off the sharp points of pain in my heart.
We remained there as the sky outside continued to darken and the office’s safety lights winked on.
“Is it weird that sometimes I only come to these things in hopes I’ll get a hug from you?” I asked, remembering how warmly he’d hugged Holden and me after my husband had died.
We’d gone to Joel and Ozzie’s bar, where they held a sort of impromptu wake, and both of us had the same visceral reaction when Major hugged us. In that moment he’d felt like Robert, strong and comforting. It had been wonderful and awful in equal measure.
“I’ve been told I give excellent hugs,” he said, patting his round belly. “I can’t wait till my hair turns white so I can play Santa every year.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, touched by the visual. Robert had talked about doing the same thing. Tears found their way down my cheeks again, which only pissed me off. I was so fucking tired of crying.
Major was incapable of letting anyone cry by themselves, so he got up and sat next to me, and I exhaled in relief. “Come here,” he said, gesturing for a hug.
Gratitude filled my chest as I turned and glommed onto his side, my hands fisting his shirt. He let his arm drape down my back and held me silently as my tears ebbed and flowed, then ebbed and flowed again. In between crying jags, I tucked my knees and leaned against him, trying to bury myself in his strength.
Eventually I settled, and we sat there in the near dark, illuminated only by the safety lights, him still holding me tight. I was surprised—though I shouldn’t have been—to notice a few tears slipping down his cheeks as well.
I took in the modern, comfortable office, with its sample bathroom setups and consultation area, and I wished Robert were here to see it. He’d have been so proud of the business Major had built, and he would’ve hated the ribbon of guilt that had wound itself around my insides for accepting comfort.
I’d have given anything for this to be Robert holding me, making some obscene joke about our plans for later. He’d loved turning me on with whispered advances while we’d sat in the coffee shop or attended a party. He’d tease me for hours on end, then get me home and take me apart. It sucked that my libido was returning because I had a hard time imagining that anyone else could measure up.
Maybe that was the real reason I was so fucking mad.
“Wow. I am a mess,” I said, chuckling as I wiped my eyes on my shirtsleeve.
Major grabbed a box of tissues from the side table and handed me a few. Still leaning against him, I wiped my face, blowing my nose.
“I’m pretty sure if I’d ever loved anyone as much as you loved Mr. Paige, I’d be a mess, too,” he said, reaching down to grab a tiny trash can.
I took a few more tissues, blew my nose again, then dropped the spent tissues into the can. Settling back in, I rested my head on his chest, appreciating the weight of his arm on my back. This would look pretty intimate to a passerby, but it felt necessary to me.
“Thank you for letting me sit with you,” I said, my voice barely audible.
Major’s arm tightened around me ever so slightly. “You never have to cry alone, Ren.”
He was a burly man, and it felt wonderful to be held by someone so strong.
